


Don't Believe Everything You Read on the Internet

by second_skin



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-06
Updated: 2012-07-06
Packaged: 2017-11-09 07:55:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/453123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/second_skin/pseuds/second_skin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Their relationship is new, so Sherlock and John are working on their issues. Someone is bound to suffer. His initials are GL.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Believe Everything You Read on the Internet

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt asking how canonically unattractive Lestrade can be played by the undeniably attractive Rupert Graves. Basically, the answer is simple: John Watson lies.

 

Sally tensed as she watched Lestrade stomping down the corridor toward his office, face a thundercloud of fury.

"How'd it go, boss?"

"Two bloody hours to convince HR I'm not an alcoholic on the verge of self-destruction. Two hours!"

"You ought to tell the doctor his stupid blog isn't a private journal. Remind him that we all read it, including HR."

"He damn well knows we read it. And if that's the way he sees me, I really can't do anything about it. I just don't understand. I thought we were friends, but lately . . ." Lestrade shook his head sadly, then added quietly, "And I'm not fat, am I?"

"No, sir, not a bit. You're as dashing as ever," Sally reassured him, trying not to smile.

 

* * * *

 

At 221B later that night, John snickered to himself as he put the finishing touches on his latest entry.

_Lestrade, a pudgy ferret-faced man far past his prime, stepped across the yellow crime scene tape to greet us. His eyes were bloodshot and red-rimmed as usual. Like his unkempt hair, his face was a sickly grey, with wrinkles etched deep in his forehead and around his grimacing mouth. I noted that even at this early hour, the man's speech was slurred by one too many pints, but he was able to mumble a grudging thank you to Sherlock for solving the case and bringing another murderer to justice._

John pressed "Post Entry," closed his laptop, and padded off to bed.

As he slipped beneath the warm duvet, Sherlock's long arms reached across the bed to pull him closer. John sighed as he felt the intoxicating warmth of his lover's breath. To begin their nightly ritual, he gently stroked Sherlock's erection through his pyjamas and kissed him tenderly.

Threading fingers into the thick black curls, John might have tugged a bit too hard tonight. He had decided to take the opportunity of the genius's rapt attention to mention once again the little problem that marred their otherwise idyllic new relationship.

"Sherlock," he whispered, flicking his tongue over an earlobe and squeezing the detective's balls tight enough to elicit a small yelp, "This is really your last warning. If you call me _Greg_ again tonight, I swear, I'll . . ."

Sherlock smothered the threat with kisses and giggled wickedly, thinking: _John is so much more fun when he's jealous._

 


End file.
